The Guest Writer
by GoldenAerie
Summary: Set after the last episode of season 4. Can Sherlock and his guest writer figure out who Diane is before more people are killed? John is on holiday for a week, people are dying, Sherlock gets a broken nose...
1. Prologue

NOTE: Takes place after the last episode of season 4. You may encounter spoilers. I will post a new chapter every weekend. Comments are always welcome.

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John Watson gave wide berth to the kitchen table. Various chemicals in beakers and Erlenmeyer flasks were dangerously covering the entire tabletop and John had Rosie strapped to his chest. One of his hands had a warm bottle and the other a full cup of tea. He stepped into the parlor, placing the tea on a side table next to Mycroft Holmes, and turned with a bounce to start feeding his baby girl.

"Thank you" Mycroft said while glaring at his brother. Sherlock was seated across from Mycroft in his usual black leather chair with two photographs in his hands. John stepped over to Sherlock, glancing at the photos.

"Who is this?" John asked. In one photograph was a blonde woman in a navy business suit, sunglasses, and red lipstick. She was carrying a briefcase and was standing on a tube platform. The other photo was a close-up of a hand on concrete, on the palm was _Diane 3:45pm_ written in black ballpoint pen.

"Clare Holt" Mycroft said. He retrieved his tea and took a sip before continuing. "She's no one of importance really; a loan officer at a bank. She was found along the northern line murdered with that scribble on her palm." John raised an eyebrow quizzically at Mycroft. "She is the first _civilian_ to have a connection to _Diane_."

"Who is _Diane_?" John asked. Mycroft gave John his usual flat smile.

"We haven't been able to figure that out yet, but I can tell you that Clare died at 10:40am" Mycroft replied. "I figure the police will be notifying you about this soon."

"Why bother showing up here? Why share the information?" Sherlock asked. John rubbed Rosie's back while she drank from her bottle.

"We would like this solved quickly" Mycroft replied. "Clare Holt is the fourth to die, but the first who isn't a government official."

"Who else died?" John asked.

"I am not at liberty to say" Mycroft said. "I can tell you that the name was the same, but the times were different: 12:01am, 18:40pm, and 7:22pm." He set his tea down and steepled his fingers. "I can't have the police looking into the case on their own. Can you imagine?"

"I want names" Sherlock demanded. Sherlock's phone buzzed in his pocket.

"You have a week" Mycroft replied. He stood up and brushed invisible lint from his cuff. "Keep the photographs, brother dear."

"I didn't plan on giving them back" Sherlock announced. He pulled his phone from his pocket and saw that the text was from Lestrade: _Got a new case for you, Holmes_.

"John, always a pleasure" Mycroft said. His gaze fell to the infant strapped to John's chest. "She is bigger. I like that she's quiet."

"Uh, thank you, thanks" John said. Mycroft left without another word. Sherlock was still and silent until he heard he front door shut, then he was standing and peeking through the curtain to watch his brother leave. "Perhaps I should cancel my plans. Harry won't mind."

"It's fine" Sherlock said. He looked down at the photos and moved to set them on the mantle. "Diane."

"I won't be here, Sherlock" John replied. "We're going out to the coast."

"I know where you're going" Sherlock said. "I think I can handle a case without you. I have been doing this long before you ever showed up." Sherlock glanced over at his friend and took a breath. "Go spend time with your daughter, John. Relax and…do whatever you think is _fun_."

"Our train leaves in an hour" John said. He gently patted his daughters back until she gave a small burp and then smacked her lips. "You're positive you don't need my help? I can call Molly—"

"Molly probably needs a break from watching your daughter, not that she's a bad godmother, but she is one who needs her work" Sherlock replied. "Just go on your vacation, John. If I need help there are people I can call."

"But you won't" John stated.

"Correct" Sherlock replied.

"It makes me worry about you" John said. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned back to the photos for a moment. John hurried to collect his bag and pull his coat on while minding Rosie. "We're going to head out in a few."

"Diane" Sherlock said to himself. His mind raced through the times his brother had given him, the stops along the northern line, and places of government officials. He finally turned around with a shout. "John?"

His flat was empty, the bag gone. A glance to the clock told Sherlock that he was been in his mind for at least 40 minutes.

Sherlock pushed his way through the crowd around Waterloo station and headed the short distance towards the Thames. A cool wind was blowing sharply along the river. There were multiple government buildings and multiple banking facilities in the area. It was the most logical place to begin. He finally stood at the iron railing along the river and observed. The boats were mostly on schedule, nothing far from the ordinary.

"Isn't the National Portrait Gallery over here?" A woman asked in an obnoxious American accent. Sherlock risked a glance at the southern woman who was far from a southern belle.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "You're on the wrong side of the river."

"I would recommend getting off at Leicester Square" A woman said from behind Sherlock. He looked behind him and found an American brunette in a dark red trench coat typing something on her phone. "Head south on Charing Cross Road and you'll find the gallery."

Sherlock moved away from the woman and the moronic southern couple, heading for the area near Blackfriars Bridge. The photo of the woman on the platform…who took the photo? It had been too sharp and too clear to be security footage. He had known that the moment he saw it. Surveillance photographs. Clare Holt had been watched and he had a good idea of where to find information on her.

The employees at Sainsbury Bank had been nearly incompetent, though they had been able to provide an address and some basic information. Clare Holt had been working with a new client, a retired military officer named Phillip Coolidge, before she died.

 _Victim, Clare Holt, loan officer at Sainsbury. Lestrade._

"Always behind" Sherlock said to himself. He texted back: _Already taken care of. SH_. His phone buzzed and he shoved it into his pocket. He was nearly back to Baker Street and he had work to do.


	2. Chapter 1

The doorbell rang, followed by a quick knocking. Mrs. Hudson hurried to answer and gave a smile to the woman standing out front.

"Can I help you?" Mrs. Hudson asked. The brunette at the door had a sticky note in her hand and a look of quiet self-assurance.

"I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes" The woman said. Mrs. Hudson opened the door and let the woman in.

"He's upstairs" Mrs. Hudson said. She shut the door after the woman and led her upstairs. "Sherlock!" She made it to the first-floor landing and knocked on Sherlock's door. "Sherlock, you have a visitor."

"I'm busy" Sherlock replied. He was hunched over a laptop with his back to the door. Dust reflected in the light from the windows and the clutter of the room was cluttered, yet oddly inviting.

"Oh Sherlock" Mrs. Hudson mewed. She gestured to the brunette. "Come in dear."

"Mrs. Hudson" Sherlock growled.

"Mr. Holmes, someone is following me" The brunette next to Mrs. Hudson said. Sherlock let out an exasperated breath, stood up, and turned to his new guest.

"Waterloo" Sherlock and the brunette said at once. She was the American in the red trench coat from earlier. Sherlock smoothed his blue trousers and tugged on the cuff of his white button up shirt.

"Waterloo?" Mrs. Hudson questioned. She shook her head and left the room.

"How do you know you're being followed?" Sherlock asked. The woman was brunette, naturally, wore minimal make-up – more or less around her eyes, and her nails were untouched but kept short. Her hair was twisted and pinned in an older style that went along with her black cat eye glasses. Sherlock sized up the woman in a moments time.

"The same car has been following me since last night" The woman said. "Four-door sedan, dark grey, license plate 352 X 111; the driver is always in a suit, male, brown hair, large nose…"

"352 X 111?" Sherlock repeated. The woman adjusted her glasses.

"Non-diplomatic government plates, yes" The woman stated. She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and held it out to the great detective. "I found this under my door this morning."

"When and where did the car begin to follow you?" Sherlock asked before taking the paper.

"I noticed the vehicle outside of Paddington station around 6pm" The woman stated. Sherlock unfolded the paper and was still for a moment. It read: _Diane, 2:55am_. "Before you ask, I don't know anyone named Diane."

"Your name?" Sherlock asked folding the paper and pocketing it.

"June Cardemus" The woman replied.

"What is it you do, June Cardemus?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm a writer" June replied. "Haven't you deduced that, as you're famous for? Journal in my pocket, plain travel bag, three writing implements in my coat pocket, and writing smudges on my hands."

"Just wanted to be sure" Sherlock replied. He gestured to a chair and promptly sat in his usual spot. "You're rather…simple."

"I can assure you that my IQ rivals your own" June said leaning back in the chair.

"Simple, as in minimal" Sherlock explained. "And, I highly doubt it."

"You're already working on the Diane case" June stated. Sherlock tilted his head slightly. "I know this from the lack of facts. I do not know a Diane. No one saw anyone slide this under my door. There is no personal meaning to the time. If someone has slid this under my door, they must know my pen name and there is no way that I am the first to have this happen. I don't have any certain enemies…currently. In the scheme of things, I am no one, just an author."

"You're June Dupin, author of the Grottier novels and fifteen non-fiction books" Sherlock said with a pause. "Does anyone buy your non-fiction books?"

"Not many" June replied. "A monograph on the early production of synthetic silk in Europe is not destined for the bestseller's list. It must be on your shelf though if you recognize me from my last sentence."

"Why Dupin?" Sherlock asked.

"Poe is my second cousin, six times removed" June answered. It was an answer that she expected him to be more than aware of as C. Auguste Dupin was the character Edgar Allen Poe created in the first detective story.

"An honor of his creation" Sherlock said with a nod.

"Have you read any of my other books?" June asked.

"A few of your monographs" Sherlock replied. "Perhaps the first of your Grottier novels."

"Will you help me, Mr. Holmes?" June asked.

"I shall" Sherlock said with a click of his tongue. He dragged a finger along the arm of his black leather chair. June's jaw stressed for a brief second. "Why didn't you say anything this morning at Waterloo?"

"I'm sure it was an out-of-context moment" June replied. Sherlock made a noise that opposed her statement.

"Why don't you answer without the falsity?" Sherlock suggested. June smirked.

"I was not expecting to see you south of the Thames this morning" June stated. "I wanted a private meeting with you."

"I see" Sherlock mused. "What else?"

"I insist on helping with the case" June said. It initiated a hearty laugh from the thin man.

"You would only slow me down" Sherlock retorted. He stood up and paced the room, adding the piece of paper to his collection on his mantle.

"Your partner went on your last two cases with an infant" June stated. "Surely, I won't be the one who slows you down."

"Regale me" Sherlock ordered from the mantle place. June's smirk returned and she slowly stood up, keeping her eyes locked on the detective.

"You are obviously working on the Diane case, but you are stuck – were stuck. You were waiting for someone like me to bring you something new" June began. "Dr. Watson left for a while, a brief trip. There are a few trademarks in your flat that are definitely not yours. If he had been leaving for any length of time, I'm sure the latest issue of _Men's Health_ wouldn't still be here."

"What if I read that?" Sherlock asked.

"You don't" June said assuredly. "This morning you passed through a construction zone by the remnants on your shoes. You stood, at some point, next to a person with a white, curly haired dog. I'll venture to guess that the person was a woman since dogs that small are often carried openly or in purses." Sherlock looked down at himself briefly. "It's hard to see, but I caught the hair in the light . Tiny, white, curly, much like that of a poodle or some other sort of poodle-mix 'dog'. I don't consider the to be real dogs, but mere annoyances. Am I correct so far?"

"Simple deductions" Sherlock said with an accompanying eye roll.

"Yes? Should we ask Mrs. Hudson if she finds the same conclusions?" June asked. She sniffed the air. "It smells like something. What is that? Meat? Flesh? Something from the inside." June sat down and took a longer smell. "I've smelled that before." Realization crossed her face after a moment. "You have a brain in the other room."

"Perhaps" Sherlock replied. "How would you even know the smell of a brain?"

"I had a grandmother who liked having brains and scrambled eggs" June replied. "She was strange and Texan. Farm girl, obviously." June tapped the chair she was in. "You can't have a big case like this one go untold. You need someone like me. Think of me as a guest writer, a guest blogger."

"I don't allow clients to assist me" Sherlock said firmly.

"Satisfactory" June said. "I take back my need for assistance. I'm just here to lend my skills."

"You've been in London for less than 48 hours and you're already bored" Sherlock said to himself.

"I can tell you something else about the paper I brought you" June said.

Sherlock leaned against the mantle and looked rather amused. "Oh please, enlighten me."

"The person who wrote the note is right handed. General handwriting analysis would conclude that the slight left slant to the words insinuates that the person is holding something back. A bit obvious, yes. The pressure of the words is relatively the same for each character" June replied. "The name and time are along the same horizon to the point that over-control is definitely a factor. The characters are very precise, all except for the 'AM' which is smaller than the other characters. I would venture that the person who wrote the note is of high education and is used to a stressful day to day routine. The sharp points at the top of the 'n' and 'm' indicate an above-average intelligence."

"Obviously" Sherlock replied. He stepped away from the mantle. "Where did you last see the car that's been following you?"

"Tottenham Court Road" June replied. "I got on the tube from there and came here, directly."

"Fancy a walk?" Sherlock asked. He reached for his coat and scarf. June hurried to follow him out the door. Their shoes, both oxfords, made the same sound on the 11….12….13 steps to the main floor. June followed Sherlock as he took a left on Baker Street. He walked to the end of the block, crossed Baker Street, and headed north to Regent Park.

"Why are we going to the park?" June asked. She had to nearly run to keep up with the fast strides of the tall man. Sherlock replied only by quickening his pace until he was nearly jogging. He stopped only when he reached the water of the boating lake. It was, as always, occupied by a swarm of geese, ducks, herons, and other waterfowl.

"Observe" Sherlock instructed. June looked around. There were a few people jogging, an older couple sat on a bench under a tree, there were people walking around, some kids feeding the ducks and the park entrance that they had used.

"Nothing yet" June noted. Cars passed by the entrance as they drove along the Outer Circle, the road that encircled the park. Two men in black leather coats came in through the entrance. "How about them?"

"Ever see them before?" Sherlock asked.

"No" June replied. "They just stand out among the crowd."

"How about some tea?" Sherlock asked. He headed across a nearby bridge and veering left towards the café nestled in the park. June kept up with him, risking a glance behind her. The two men who looked like stereotypical thugs were following them.

"They're following" June said. The detective put his hand on the small of her back and ushered her past the bandstand, down the walkway, and into the café that sat just beyond the Inner Circle.

The café was not wildly busy due to the hour of the day, but there were enough people around the sway most displays of violence by thugs. The two men stopped outside the café and looked around. It was obvious that they couldn't see beyond their own reflections in the windows. The two thugs took the twenty steps to the café entrance. June stretched her neck a little and watched them enter. The tall man beside her straightened up as the men entered and plastered on fake smiles upon seeing them.

"There you are! Very good seeing you" The larger of the two said as if they were long lost friends. The slightly shorter man pulled a small snub nose from his pocket and tilted his head for them to exit. If the larger man's voice was any indicator, they were of Romanian origin. Sherlock and June stepped out of the café, the two men behind them.

"Who sent you?" Sherlock asked.

"Keep walking" The larger man said ignoring the question.

"Take a left at the Inner Circle" The shorter man ordered.

"What do you want with me?" June asked as they were ordered onto a small, narrow path that swept its way through a garden. She stopped when Sherlock stopped.

He turned to the two men before talking. "Who sent you?"

"What's your endgame?" June asked with a bit of an emotional pull.

"Shut up" Sherlock snapped. He sized up the two men before taking a half-step forward. "You two have been at this for quite some time, so you look out for one another and ask for an above average price if you think you can squeeze your employer. What's the average rate these days for a lowly author? 8000 pounds? Maybe 10?"

"You going to double the offer?" The shorter man asked. Sherlock's look said that the man was a complete moron.

"And help you live above your means? Decidedly 'no'" Sherlock replied. "What I will do is expose the fact that you both are having allergy issues this fall from the pollen – red, watery eyes; cold sweats on the brow; and such effort for the false pleasantries."

"What are you going to do?" The smaller man asked with a clipped chuckle. "Hit me with pl-?"

Blood spurted from the short man's nose. June's left jab was strong and fast. The short man barely had time to register the first hit when she followed it with her right. The larger man's eyes grew big upon seeing his friend and clenched shut when Sherlock's fist connected with his cheek. The snub-nose landed on the asphalt with a metallic clatter. Something cracked in the smaller man and he hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. The larger man was hit twice in the nose and he fell to his knees.

"Who sent you?" Sherlock asked holding the man by his leather lapels.

"My nose!" The man cried in disbelief. Sherlock gave him a shake. "It was anonymous."

"How did you get the job? Someone must have met up with you" Sherlock demanded. The large man tried sniffling as blood trickled from his nose. If he had been a cartoon character, his eyes would have been rolling around in his head. Through his allergies and broken nose, he managed to retrieve a small yellow envelope from his pocket. Sherlock let go of him and took the envelope.

"It was under our door with cash" The man said trying to remain kneeling, seem tough, and hold his head back to stop the nose blood.

Sherlock and June stepped back from the two men. The envelope had a photo of June and a note promising to double the cash amount upon completion of the job. It was signed 'Diane'.

"Another note from Diane" Sherlock said unamused. He shoved the envelope into his pocket. "Who is Diane?"

The large man just laughed, at least he tried to. "I hear Diane gets rid of what is too telling."

"What do you mean too telling?" June asked.

"I've only heard rumors, but I suspect she hates your books" The large man said ruefully. June nodded and shrugged, hands plunged into her pockets.

"They are a bit above the average Joe" June replied. She pulled her phone out and quickly snapped a picture of the large man.

"Hey!" The man cried out.

"The cops will love this" June stated. She stepped past the kneeling man and snapped a picture of the unconscious man.

"You-!" The kneeling man spat.

"Regent Park, just off the Inner Circle" Sherlock cut in. The kneeling man turned his head to see the detective on his mobile. "I have two men here who have information about 'Diane'. I'd hurry."

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NOTE: As always, I appreciate any and all comments.


	3. Chapter 2

NOTE: Hope you enjoy this. Please leave comments.

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It hadn't taken long for the police to arrive to collect the two thugs. Lestrade let the uniformed cops take the two men into custody while he stayed to talk with Sherlock.

"How did they find you?" Lestrade asked. They were the center of a spectacle on the Inner Circle.

"They found her" Sherlock said gesturing to June. "June Dupin, Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"The author?" Lestrade asked.

"Yes" June replied. The detective's mouth fell into a big smile.

"I'm a big fan" Lestrade replied. "Call me Greg."

"Thank you, Greg" June said returning his smile, though not as enthusiastically.

"If you're hanging out with Sherlock, I'm guessing that you're having problems with 'Diane' as well" Lestrade said with seriousness falling across his features once again. "What can you tell me?"

"I received a piece of paper this morning that read 'Diane 2:55am', so I contacted Mr. Holmes" June replied. The wind picked up again. It had been a day of sudden gusts of cool air. This time it was enough to make their coats and hair flutter in the wind.

"She's working with me" Sherlock interrupted. "She has agreed to be my 'guest writer'."

"Oh yeah, John's out for the week, isn't he?" Lestrade asked rhetorically. He looked at the two before him. "I suppose I know where you're staying then."

"Oh, no—" June started.

"Yes" Sherlock interrupted. "Her current locale has been compromised and, as you know, my place is much safer."

"That's a stretch" Lestrade said with a chuckle.

"There's safety in numbers" Sherlock insisted. June's phone rang with the sound of a cello.

"My mother, excuse me" June said before answering the phone and stepping away from the two men.

"What are you doing?" Lestrade asked stepping a little closer to Sherlock. "Does John know?"

"About what?" Sherlock asked. Lestrade pointed to the woman on the phone. "Why would John need to know? She's useful and she is acting as a guest writer while he's away on holiday. Perhaps you would be interested to know that she's been followed since last night, hence the slip of paper, hence the two goons."

"Followed?" Lestrade said simply.

"License plate 352 X 111" Sherlock recalled. Lestrade wrote down the plate number and looked up to find Sherlock walking over to June, who fell in step with the detective automatically. It couldn't have been choreographed any better.

"There's something" Lestrade said to himself as he watched them. He watched them keep stride together and adjust their coat collars.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock bellowed as he entered 221B. The older woman stepped out from her kitchen. "Due to unexpected circumstances, June will be taking the spare room upstairs."

"Oh, alright dear. John's old room?" Mrs. Hudson replied. Sherlock hurried up the stairs, sending a quick text as he approached the landing. June followed him. Black oxfords followed by maroon oxfords, step by step.

"I should retrieve my things if I am to stay here" June began. "I haven't even told you where I'm staying."

"You're staying in one of those cheap places just across from Paddington" Sherlock announced. He pulled his coat and scarf off, only then turning to look at the woman behind him. He approved of her look with conservative trousers, oxfords, trench coat, and vintage hair style. "Which one?"

"Metro, room 211" June replied. She began undoing her coat buttons, finally revealing a rather plain long-sleeved blouse. Sherlock typed more into his phone before sending another message. His phone beeped at him.

"Your things will be here within the hour" Sherlock replied. He retrieved the envelope from his coat and added the contents to the collection on the mantle. June approached the mantle and gazed over the material presented. "As you can see, there is not much to go on."

"Yes" June mused. "I suppose you could add all the details that I provided earlier like the license plate."

"I have that in my mind" Sherlock snapped. "I'm not likely to forget it." His phone beeped and he glanced at it. "Henry Young."

"Henry Young?" June repeated. "I know that name."

"Do you?" Sherlock asked. "The plate number belongs to him."

"I can't place where I know the name from" June said. Sherlock turned with his phone in hand, furiously tapping on his phone.

"Barely any mentions of him online, but it appears he is a supporter of the arts" Sherlock said.

"Knock, knock" Mrs. Hudson called out upon opening the door. She had a tray filled with tea and biscuits. "I brought you some tea." She set the tray down on a side table and lingered to catch an eyeful of the items above the mantle. "Looks like the case is off to a start." She smiled at June. "John's room is the other door at the top of the landing, but it connects through the hallway as well."

"Yes, thank you" June said. "I haven't looked around yet. I'm June."

"That even sounds like John" Mrs. Hudson said to herself. "What do you do, dear?"

"I'm a writer" June replied.

"She is filling in for John" Sherlock said, refusing to turn to the landlady.

"Well let me show you around. It will just take a moment" Mrs. Hudson said. Sherlock let out an exasperated breath and poured himself a cup of tea as soon as the women moved towards the door. "I love your hair. How long does it take to do that?"

"Not long with practice" June said while stepping out onto the landing.

Within the hour, June's single suitcase was in her room and Bill stood in Sherlock's flat looking a little wild-eyed. June had ignored her things for the most part. She had swept up her laptop as if it was all that mattered. She was currently perched on the opposite side of the table where Sherlock's laptop resided. She struck the keyboard with a nearly impossible typing speed and only paused with, what Sherlock guessed was an internet check.

"Need any extra help?" Bill asked. "I have some time."

"I have extra help" Sherlock said passing him some cash.

"Well, who are you looking for? I can ask around. I know people" Bill said. Sherlock gave him a look involving a furrowed brow and a questioning head tilt. "I didn't say they were friends, but I know people."

"Henry Young" Sherlock replied.

"And what does he do, this Henry Young?" Bill asked a little loudly. Sherlock followed Bill's gaze to June.

"No" Sherlock stated.

"What?" Bill asked.

"Perhaps you could ask around the Southbank area and tell me what you find" Sherlock said. He opened the door and Bill took the hint.

"I'll do that, Sherlock" Bill announced. June never looked up from her laptop. He left with an eyeroll.

"The arts" June said once the door was shut. "That's the connection."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked.

June turned her laptop around, displaying a website for a lounge singer. "Your loan officer on the mantle was a weekend lounge singer."

"You're a bestselling author. Clare Holt was barely more than a step above singing karaoke in fancy dress" Sherlock mused. "What about the others?"

"What others?" June asked.

"There were three government officials killed before Clare" Sherlock replied.

"Who?" June asked. Sherlock stood up and shrugged.

"That information was not divulged" Sherlock replied. The sound of a cello interrupted them. June answered her phone.

"Hey Mom" June said. She turned her laptop back around and checked the news while her mother talked to her. "No, I'm not doing anything 'touristy' while I'm here." Sherlock wandered into his kitchen and turned on the magnifying lamp that he had secured to the edge of the table. "Because I've been here three times before and I have no need of 'touristy' happenings."

Sherlock retrieved the brain that had been soaking in a yellow solution with a pair of tongs. He placed it on a cutting mat and started making ultra-thin slices of each major section.

"I should go, Mom" June said. "I have work to do." There was a lengthy pause. "I'm not working on another book at the moment. I'm assisting someone with some work." There was another pause. "Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock could hear a mumble of sound from the phone as he placed a thin slice of the cerebral cortex onto a slide. "I'm not going to die, Mom. I've got to go. Bother me in a few days, okay?" There was a brief pause again. "No, he's slicing up a brain." Sherlock felt himself flinch just slightly. "A brain." Pause. "I haven't asked. Bye—" Pause. "Bye, Mom."

June hung up the phone and tossed it across the room onto the couch against the far wall. Sherlock heard it hit the soft leather and he carefully started cutting a section of the frontal lobe. He was grateful that June didn't try to discuss the conversation she just had on the phone with him, as others were prone to doing.

The flat was quiet. It had been for enough time that the sky outside had started to darken. A rumble made itself known in June's stomach. She had actively been ignoring it, but it was getting to be bothersome.

"I need some food" June announced. She leaned back in her chair and looked over at Sherlock, who was looking through his microscope at his prepared slides. "Do you need a break?"

"For what?" Sherlock asked absently.

"For food, Mr. Holmes" June replied. She stood up and stretched automatically. "I'm going to find something to eat. I don't think I ever ate along Baker Street."

"There's a café just outside" Sherlock said looking at her.

"Is it good?" June asked. She shut her laptop and went into the kitchen to see what he was doing.

"Not really" Sherlock replied. From what June could see, he had slices of brain on a number of slides and was applying various liquids to them. From the smell she could almost pick out the chemicals he was using.

"Making progress with your brain and various acids?" June asked.

"Nothing beyond what I was expecting" Sherlock said.

"Good" June said. "Then, you can take a break and find food with me."

Sherlock pointed to the leftover part of brain that was currently sitting on a plate. "You could cook that up like dear old granny."

"I'm thinking Italian or French" June said ignoring him. She left the kitchen to put her coat on. She picked up her phone and looked for restaurants in the area. "I'll be back, Sherlock."

"Bring me something" Sherlock called out.

The French bistro south a few blocks on Baker Street served delicious food. June received the usual curious glances when she showed up and dined alone. She ate fairly quickly, having to force herself to appreciate the food. She even placed a to-go order for Sherlock and was nearly finished eating when they brought the takeaway bag to her.

The wind had grown fierce as the moon rose and June hurried to get back to the flat. Baker Street was busy, as most popular thoroughfares were in the early evening. June turned up her coat collar against the wind.

Just after June crossed Dorset Street, a few men passed her only to take up the width of the sidewalk. Another came up behind her and delivered a blow to her ribs. The men stopped all at once, looking as if they stopped to talk while the attacker delivered another blow to June's ribs.

The takeaway fell from June's right hand. In the sudden assault, June was sure she heard one of the men say the name 'Diane', but couldn't tell which one or if it had even come from the men around her. The attacker, pulled away, obviously worried about someone seeing him. June took the opportunity to land a single strike, a punch to the balls. A loud group of ladies crossed Dorset. June glanced at them. They were a flamboyant herd of pink, feathers, glitter, and boastful sashes announcing a bachelorette party. The men around June took off, hauling their gasping friend with them.

The bachelorette party passed June without a second glance. June picked herself and the takeaway up from the sidewalk. Her side ached and taking a deep breath hurt more than it should. A grimace marked her face and she continued her way to 221B Baker Street.

"Oh my" Mrs. Hudson said when June came in. Mrs. Hudson was just coming down the stairs. "What happened to you?"

"I'm fine, Mrs. Hudson" June said. By the time she had crossed Marylebone Road she was holding her side and her hair simply became more wild in the wind. The initial fall had knocked a few bobby pins from her locks.

"You look a bit rough" Mrs. Hudson replied. June stepped passed the landlady with a nod and slowly went up the stairs.

"I don't need anything, Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock bellowed when June got to the landing. June left the takeaway outside his closed door and shuffled into the room she was to stay in. As soon as June shut her door she groaned and tore her coat off as fast as her body allowed. She lifted her shirt and stepped in front of the mirror. Her side, her lower left ribs were bruised. Her skin was red and purple.

"Damn" June grumbled. She dropped her shirt and opened the suitcase that was on the bed.

"John?" Sherlock called out. June heard a slight shuffle and then a firm knock. "John?"

"June" June called back. She pulled out her pajamas and robe. "I'm—I'm going to take a quick shower."

"Fine" Sherlock called back; it was followed by the sound of his door shutting.

Sherlock was in his chair, in his pajamas, eating his ham hock terrine and salad when June came in. He barely looked away from the television which was set to a special hour-long interview with a serial killer. June eased herself into John's chair and watched Sherlock.

"Is that good?" June asked.

"Yes" Sherlock replied. He stuck a forkful of ham and pineapple chutney into his mouth and pointed at the television. "Complete liar." He glanced over at her. She was in silver grey pajamas and a grey and pink robe. Her damp hair hung just below her shoulders in curls. "The food was a bit jumbled."

"Probably happened when I got punched in the ribs" June replied.

"That would explain things" Sherlock said turning back to the television. "You must be fine if you managed to hang onto the takeaway."

"I thought I heard one of them say the name Diane" June said. "But, there was a bachelorette party that passed by." The television interview rambled on about the killer's reasoning behind his string of victims. The victim feigned innocence and talked instead about how the police planted evidence. "I had a thought about Diane. What if Diane isn't a she? What if D.I.A.N.E. is some group?" The idea made Sherlock shrug before taking another forkful of food. "Diplomatic plates, a killing in a subway, and the park incident…It's not all the same person doing these things."

"It could be the same person ordering these things to be done" Sherlock replied.

The door of the flat opened and Mrs. Hudson entered with a bottle of wine and a big smile. "Wine? This isn't my bran—Oh, look at you two!" Sherlock and June looked at each other before looking back at Mrs. Hudson questioningly. "You two match! Like two peas in a pod! Right down to the wavy hair."

Mrs. Hudson set the wine down and pulled her phone out, snapping a picture.

"Mrs. Hudson" Sherlock groaned incredulously. "What are you doing?"

"Just snapping a picture" Mrs. Hudson said. She looked at her phone and giggled. "Enjoy the wine dears." Mrs. Hudson tapped on her phone and left the flat. As soon as she left, Sherlock walked around the room and picked up the bottle.

"Pinot Grigio from Napa Valley" Sherlock mused.

"I would take a glass" June said. Sherlock moseyed into the kitchen and took his time with the wine. He came back with two glasses, handing one to June before plopping into his chair.

"Diane" Sherlock mumbled to himself before indulging in his glass of wine and returning his attention to the interview on television.


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry that it's been a while. Here is more story for you. Chapter 4 is part way done.

* * *

Sherlock was pacing with a book open in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. The television interview had grown dull. While June had been out, Sherlock had dug up a map of London and had the incidents mapped out. He had reached for one of her monographs while June sketched and sipped her wine.

"Several of your monographs push the historical boundaries for early industrialization" Sherlock said with a glance at the book in his hand. "Some might say that your work suggests that Europe was simply slow and not ready for industrialization, that it almost had to be forced before it ever took off."

"Perhaps that's part of the reason why my monographs are not the most popular" June replied. Her phone buzzed and she glanced down at the text.

 _Care to grab a drink tonight? We can talk about the case. Lestrade._

"How did Lestrade get my number?" June asked. Sherlock set the book down and swirled his wine around in his glass.

"I sent it to him earlier, in case of emergency" Sherlock replied. June gave a soft snort and tilted her head a little.

"He just asked me out for drinks" June stated. She set her phone onto the arm of the chair and went back to drawing.

"Just ignore him" Sherlock shrugged. An hour passed with talk about the case mixed with texting and laptop use. "I've coerced extra information on the dead officials." His thumbs were tapping away at his phone as he sent a snide reply to his brother. "I have names and times of death."

Sherlock wrote down the information onto a pad of paper and was silent for a moment.

"Those outbursts, do you do that often?" June asked. Sherlock stood up, paced for a moment, and finally reached for his violin. He sat down in his chair with glazed-over eyes. "Sherlock?"

"I have terrible news." Sherlock said. June stopped drawing and watched Sherlock. "The first person to die was Abraham Nissle. He worked for the Ministry of Defense doing office work. He died at 3:56pm and his note from Diane gave a time of 12:01am."

"I didn't know him" June replied. Sherlock plucked at his violin.

"The next died at 11:35am with the time on his note as 18:40pm" Sherlock said. "After that the time of death was 1:17pm with a note of 7:22pm. The latest person, Clare, died at 10:40am and her note said 3:45pm." June's eyebrow twitched and she shrugged. "Don't you see the pattern?"

"I'd have to write down the times and figur-" June said.

"You're slated to die at 10:50pm, tonight" Sherlock told her. June let her foot bob as she processed the information. "15 hours, 55 minutes. 16 hours, 55 minutes. 17 hours, 55 minutes. 18 hours, 55 minutes. You have been given 19 hours, 55 minutes from 2:55am."

June stared at Sherlock, who absently plucked out the first few bars of notes from something that sounded like Chopin. June's mind ran through scenario after scenario; a lone gunman entering the flat, heading for the room she was staying, a gunshot, and the man leaving. Perhaps there would be two killers, just as there had been two in the park, and it wouldn't just be June getting killed. The next scenario had June and Sherlock awake, waiting. It led to a fight with a few rounds going off and Mrs. Hudson screaming downstairs. The next scenario was similar, but the police were there to monitor the apartment. The following few scenarios involved the pair running around the city, attempting to avoid confrontation, but most of those scenarios resulted in death or bodily damage.

"We should call the police and have them set up around Baker Street, perhaps two officers on the premises" June suggested.

"I don't plan on you dying anytime tonight" Sherlock said. June stood up and found her phone where she had left it on the couch.

"Are you going to protect me?" June asked. Her thumb pressed the screen of her phone. "I've just run through the more highly probable of scenarios and our best choice is contacting the police." She heard a distant 'hello' and brought the phone to her ear. "Detective Inspector? It's June."

"Oh god" Sherlock groused. He picked up his bow and started to play his violin.

"I'm going to die tonight unless I can get some police protection" June interrupted Lestrade. "Sherlock found a pattern. 10:50pm is my determined end-time." She paused. "I would like two men here, inside 221b." She paused again. "He does not. Look, Detective, the best scenario is having the flat watched along with two of your men here." She paused and sighed. "'Irregardless' isn't a proper term. Have your people here soon. I already had two men follow me when I was coming back from grabbing a bite to eat."

June hung up and pocketed the phone. Sherlock continued to play and watched her move into the kitchen. She opened the fridge, moved a few things around, and shut it in disappointment. Sherlock ended his playing with a flourish of notes.

"What are you looking for?" Sherlock asked.

"Something to eat" June replied.

"I can call for Mrs. Hudson" Sherlock suggested. June shook her head 'no' and sat in John's chair. "Are you...upset?"

"No, but it does put a damper on my night" June replied. "Tomorrow evening I'm supposed to attend a writer's award gala. On the bright side, if I am killed at 10:50, I won't have to attend."

"If you aren't killed at 10:50, there's no telling what Diane will do next" Sherlock replied. "Who is Lestrade sending over?"

"I don't know" June replied.

By the time there was a knock at the door, Sherlock and June had the television turned to a movie that was mildly interesting. Sherlock was perched at his laptop, going through the background searches on the victims, and June was trying to find a comfortable position to draw in, one that didn't make her side ache.

"Stop moving" Sherlock gruffed. June stood up and pulled her top up enough to show him her side. It was a cloudy black and purple with a little bit of red and yellow on the edges.

"This is bothering me just a little bit" June told him. Sherlock reached to touch the bruising. The knock at the door was followed by Lestrade letting himself in.

"Evening, Sherlock" Lestrade said with a smile. Sergeant Donovan was with him. She sneered at the two before her. June had her shirt pulled up and Sherlock was stopped mid-way, reaching for her bruised side.

"What are you doing?" Sergeant Sally Donovan asked. "Is he making you do that?"

"Donovan" Lestrade snapped at her. June pulled her shirt down and ignored the female officer. "We're your protection tonight. We just checked with Mrs. Hudson and locked this place up."

Donovan and Lestrade hung up their coats, revealing their bulletproof vests and sidearms. They both came over, Donovan with her arms remaining crossed. Lestrade took John's chair while Donovan stood next to it. She picked up the pad of paper that June had been drawing on.

"June, this is Sergeant Sally Donovan" Sherlock said chastely. "Donovan, this June Dupin."

"The author" Lestrade chimed in with a smile. Donovan raised an eyebrow, nodded her head, and smirked. Lestrade checked his watch. "Sherlock, we need to go over a few things. First, I want the curtains drawn over the windows fully and it might be preferable to maybe move into the kitchen."

"What is all this?" Donovan asked holding up the pad of paper. There were a few pages of drawings, all of Sherlock.

"Drawings" June replied.

"Why would you draw him?" Donovan asked. June held her hand out and Donovan handed the drawings over. Sherlock snatched the pad of paper while standing and moving towards the mantle.

"We can move to the kitchen, but it's not the roomiest" Sherlock replied. He flipped through the drawings and stopped at one where he was perched, almost bird-like, on a chair. "I don't do this."

"I drew that while you were doing it" June told him. "You were watching television."

"C'mon, everyone into the kitchen" Lestrade said standing up and gesturing for everyone to move. Donovan led the way and showed her disgust at the makeshift lab that took up the kitchen table. "Okay, right now it is just after 9pm. We have almost two hours until the strike is supposed to be made against June. Are you two ready for this?"

"Absolutely" June and Sherlock replied.

"Wow. You two are totally creepy" Donovan said wide-eyed.

"We have people positioned around Baker Street, ready to act when the threat arrives" Lestrade informed. "The main areas of intrusion are going to be the front door, the front windows, and any other windows."

"Are we really going to stay in here for 2 hours?" Donovan asked. "There isn't any room."

"How did you get all bruised up?" Lestrade asked June. He stepped over to the sink and filled the electric water kettle. Sherlock left the kitchen and plopped into his favorite chair.

"I was attacked when I stepped out for a bite to eat" June replied. "It's really nothing."

"Do you like him?" Donovan asked. She was sitting in a kitchen chair that was pulled away from the table. Her tone told June that she considered this to be morbidly curious. "I mean, are you attracted to the freak?"

"Sally, why don't you double-check the downstairs?" Lestrade suggested. June held up a hand towards Lestrade and kept eye contact with Sally.

"I've only known that man for less than a day" June answered. "But I do find him quite interesting and it's such a nice change to have someone on my intellectual level. I spend my time alone, contriving plots of murder and mayhem, then dumbing it down for the populace. With Sherlock, he...understands. Imagine spending all your time with children. You would constantly have to explain things, watch as they do stupid stuff…" June closed her eyes for a second and gave an exasperated sigh. "Children are gross and stupid and very loud. Now, imagine finally meeting another adult."

"You're calling us gross, stupid children?" Donovan said.

"She's trying to be nice" Sherlock called out from the living room.

"Are you two sleeping together?" Donovan asked. "I'm just trying to understand how repelled I should be by the pair of you."

"No" June answered. "Is that really important to you? His sex life?"

"I'm just keeping tabs on the freak" Donovan replied. "He's not right, you know."

"Why did you bring her along, Lestrade?" Sherlock called out.

"She's a good shot" Lestrade replied. The tea kettle bubbled as it started to boil. "Tea's on."


	5. Chapter 4

"Why are you staring at me?" June asked. She was flipping through the _Men's Health_ magazine. She didn't have to look up to feel him watching her.

"You drew these" Sherlock stated. He had the sketches on the arm of his chair.

"You saw me drawing those" June answered.

"Why did you do that? Do you know how much fodder you gave Donovan?" Sherlock hissed. Lestrade and Donovan had once again left to check downstairs and upstairs. June closed the magazine and glanced over at the clock. It was almost 10:50pm. "Worried?"

"A little" June replied. June stood up and grabbed a poker from the fireplace. "I suppose I should be ready."

"I like them" Sherlock admitted. He stood up and went around to his desk. He pushed things around and pulled out a canister of pepper spray. "Do you think you could-GET DOWN!"

A red dot appeared on June's hair, moving towards her forehead. June began her drop to the floor and Sherlock moved to tackle her when the window burst and a bullet embedded itself into the wall. June hit the floor with her right lower leg before Sherlock's tackle knocked her backwards. It was over in a split second.

"Get to the kitchen" Sherlock hissed. June dropped the poker and pushed herself out from under Sherlock, heading for the kitchen. Sherlock moved to crouch behind John's chair. "LESTRADE!"

Two more shots were fired, one through each front window. There were shouts from downstairs and the sound of shattering glass.

"June?" Sherlock called out.

"I'm fine" June said quickly. She was pressed up against the fridge, out of the line of sight of any bullets. The commotion continued downstairs and was joined by police sirens. Heavy boots ran up the stairs and Sherlock sprinted across the room, pulling out his pepper spray. The door opened and Sherlock sprayed.

Donovan shrieked and dropped to the floor. Sherlock stepped back.

"Donovan!" Sherlock protested.

"You bastard!" Donovan screamed at him. Tears rolled down her face. She repeated it as she cried from the pain.

"We've had shots fired into the flat. Stay down" Sherlock told her. He stepped past her and headed for the first floor. He saw a team of police hauling a man in black out the door. Lestrade was bellowing orders, having the police sweep for damage before leaving.

"Sherlock, everyone okay upstairs?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock pocketed his pepper spray. "We're good for the most part. The windows were shot out and Donovan took some pepper spray, but she's handling it like a champ."

"There's a second shooter?" Lestrade asked. He went back to barking at the police. He finally turned to Sherlock. "Get upstairs and keep an eye on things."

* * *

The madness was not over until after midnight. Mrs. Hudson had spent the night at a friend's when Sherlock told her of the potential threat. Donovan had left with the paramedics. Lestrade had been one of the last people to leave after helping seal the windows and check the locks. Once everything calmed down, Sherlock found June tucked away in John's room with the shakes.

"It's just the crash after the adrenaline" June insisted. Sherlock stood in the doorway watching her. "I'm so cold right now."

"You'll be fine once you sleep" Sherlock told her. "I'm going to bed."

"Wait, uh" June said standing up from the bed with the spare blanket wrapped around her. "You're sure it's all locked up?"

"Lestrade double-checked it himself" Sherlock said. He gazed down at the short woman understanding what was wrong. "Don't be scared. You will be safe tonight. I promised you wouldn't die tonight and now I promise that you will be safe."

"Yes, I-" June said clearing her throat. "I know that it's completely irrational, but I...I am quite frightened that the second shooter will come back." June had a violent shiver and she closed her eyes, in an attempt to calm herself. "Did you turn the heat down?"

"No" Sherlock replied. He reached out and touched her face. "I would say that you are having a mild panic attack. You are cool and clammy."

"I knew that it was coming" June said. "How can it be a panic attack, if I knew about it?"

"You need to calm yourself" Sherlock said softly. "Perhaps some tea?"

"I don't want tea" June replied. "I just, I need a distraction."

"I can see three books poking out from your luggage. Perhaps read?" Sherlock suggested. June stepped back to the bed and sat down.

"Perhaps I'll do that" June said. "Have a good night, Sherlock."

Sherlock watched her shiver under the plush blanket as he reached for the door. "Just try to relax. You will be fine, once you relax. Good night, June."

* * *

June emerged from John's room after a very long night. Her muscles ached and she was still a little chilled, but the shivering had stopped. She headed for the living room when she heard Sherlock talking to someone.

"Oh, stop worrying so much. No one was hurt" Sherlock groaned. June watched quietly as Sherlock talked with someone on his laptop screen. He was lounging sideways in his chair with his back towards the main door.

"Is the flat at risk of burglary? What about tonight?" The blonde man asked. "I can cut my time short and come back."

"No" Sherlock answered.

"No?" The man asked with a head shake.

"I have your room being lent out, if you must know" Sherlock replied. June came into the room.

"Who is that?" The man asked. Sherlock looked over at June.

"Are you feeling better?" Sherlock asked. He sat up and moved the laptop so John was facing the majority of the living room and kitchen. "You still look a bit chilled."

"I am still a bit chilled" June told him. Sherlock reached out for her hand with his left and then placed his other hand on her forehead.

"What's going on? What happened?" The man on the screen asked.

"John, June. June, John" Sherlock said quickly. He moved into the kitchen, moved things around, and came back with a cup of tea. "Here."

"Thank you" June said.

"I'm sorry, what's going on?" John asked. "Who are you? What are you doing in my room?"

"I'm your temporary replacement" June said.

"She had a bit of a panic attack last night" Sherlock told him. "Shakes, chills, fear, lack of focus, dilated pupils."

"Did you touch her and bring her tea?" John asked.

"Of course I did" Sherlock replied. "I'm not a complete monster."

"Did she-Did you say that you are my temporary replacement?" John asked. June nodded and sipped her tea.

"Like a guest blogger" June said. John looked dumbfounded. In the background was a woman holding Rosie and cooing at her. Her features gave her away as John's sister.

"Have you ever written anything before?" John asked.

"She is June Cardemus, aka June Dupin" Sherlock said with a grin. John looked at him. "She's an author, John."

"Dr. Watson" June said, feeling better with the tea. "I promise to do your blog justice. I'll have everything typed up, so you can post it when you return."

"I feel like I should have been asked about this. About all of this" John said. He turned around. "Harriet, would you take Rosie out of here for a moment?"

"Do you have a tux for tonight?" June asked Sherlock. He nodded and sipped at his own cup of tea. "It's supposed to be a black tie affair."

"What? What's going on?" John asked. "Black tie?"

"There is a writer's gala that I have to be at to receive an award" June said. "Sherlock is my date."

"Date?" John repeated.

"In a liberal sense" Sherlock chimed in. "Only one of the shooters was arrested last night, so there is a chance of the other making a second attempt." Sherlock glanced over at June. "Where are those drawings?"

June set her tea down on the side table and looked around, moving beyond the scope of the video chat.

"There is something I think you should add to your blog" Sherlock said excitedly. He stretched a long arm and was handed a pad of paper. "Thank you, John." He flipped it around to display it to the screen. "What do you think? Perhaps these could replace that ridiculous hat picture."

"Are you sure you don't want me to come back?" John asked. "It's been what? 24-hours or so?" John shook his head and gave Sherlock a stern look. "Put June on and give us a minute, Sherlock. Do it."

June pulled a wooden chair around and sat in front of the laptop. Sherlock got up and moved around the flat. June watched him move into the kitchen, making ample noise.

"Since you are my temporary replacement, June" John said in a firm, but soft tone. "I'm charging you with that man's safety. You're in charge of making sure Sherlock Holmes is safe. You can't just leave, betrayal can't be a possibility. He's a cock, but he is also my best friend. If something happens to him, I will come after you. Understand that."

"Yes, Doctor" June said with a nod and adjustment of her glasses.

"You drew pictures of him?" John asked. June started saying something, but John interrupted. "Jesus, he will be on that for months."

"Are you two done yet?" Sherlock called out from the kitchen. "What's he saying about me?"

"I'm going to get dressed now. It was nice meeting you, Dr. Watson" June said to the laptop. Sherlock came back over and sat in the wooden chair. He was still holding onto the drawing pad. The men were quiet until June left.

"She seems nice" John said. Sherlock rolled his eyes and snorted.

"What a terrible thing to say. 'Nice'" Sherlock scoffed. "She's fairly interesting and look how talented." He held up the pad of paper again. He flipped a few pages to the odd drawing of him perched on a chair, bird-like. "Have you ever seen me do that?"

"Yeah" John replied.

"I never do that" Sherlock insisted turned the paper so he could look at it.

"Do you often rent out my room when I leave for a long weekend?" John asked.

"No, of course not" Sherlock replied trading the drawings for his tea. "John had a death threat-"

"June. She's June, I'm John" John corrected.

"I know her name" Sherlock replied. "There are people dying, all with notes left from 'Diane'. So far there haven't been a tremendous amount of clues. It's very peculiar. We will go down to Scotland Yard later to question the shooter that Lestrade arrested last night. JUNE thinks that it might be an acronym for something: D.I.A.N.E."

"Diane" John said. He looked down in thought. "In World War II there was a French agent with the code name Diane. What was her name? Victoria Hall or something...no, Virginia. Virginia Hall. She had a false leg." Behind John, Harriet came back in the room with Rosie. John looked behind him. "I need to go, Sherlock. We're stepping out for breakfast."

"Have fun on holiday, John" Sherlock said. As soon as John ended the skype session, Sherlock closed his laptop and went to get ready for the day. The possibility of Diane being a code name stuck in his mind.

* * *

There was a swift crack followed by a moan and blood. Sally Donovan, still puffy-faced, stood frowning at the consulting detective who was currently holding his nose. June reached for a few tissues and handed them to Sherlock.

"You asshole" Donovan growled at him. Another officer came over and pulled her away from Sherlock. "I should arrest you for assaulting an officer!"

"I thought you were one of the shooters" Sherlock muttered.

"Serves you right" Lestrade said from his office doorway. "That shit hurts you know."

Sherlock stood upright with the tissues pressed to his nose and his head slightly tilted back. The hand holding the tissues moved a little bit and he groaned. "I think she broke my nose."

"Are you two matching today?" Lestrade asked as they entered his office. His guests looked clueless and finally looked down at themselves. "Is that on purpose?" Both were in the same dark grey, both wore black oxfords, and both were in similar peacock blue shirts. The only real difference was that June was wearing a short sleeved blouse and no suit blazer. "Didn't you notice?"

"We're here to see if you have any information from the arrested shooter" June said.

"I want to talk to him" Sherlock said.

"He hasn't said a word" Lestrade told them. "I have him on suicide surveillance. He hasn't said anything all night and when we questioned him he recited the ABC's."

"Let me talk to him Lestrade" Sherlock demanded. He moved the tissue away from his nose and tried not to sniffle. Lestrade cringed. His nose was red and his left eye was sporting a darkening purple around it.

Lestrade stood up and came around his desk. "I can let you talk to him or at least talk at him." Lestrade bent over and looked at Sherlock's nose. "I can help you out with that."

"With what?" Sherlock asked. Lestrade reached out and quickly adjusted Sherlock's nose. Sherlock let out a surprised cry of pain.

"Now your nose will at least heal straight" Lestrade said. "You're welcome."

"Thanks" Sherlock muttered.

* * *

The interrogation room was bright and barren. The shooter was handcuffed to the table. He sat there with a permanent sneer on his face. He was a short muscular man with a grizzled face and his head shaved. He sported a few old tattoos and he didn't appear bothered to be in his current situation. The only thing that moved were his eyes, shifting between the two before him. He knew that the man with the broken nose was Sherlock Holmes and he knew the female was his intended target. They both sat there, staring at him.

What he wasn't sure of was… "Why are you matching?"

"Interesting conversation starter" Sherlock quipped. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "I'm told that your prints are in the national database. Who are you?" The man closed his mouth and stared at Sherlock. "Who is Diane?"

"Your accent sounds different than most Londoners" June stated.

"Newcastle" Sherlock mumbled. He pulled a new tissue from his pocket and pressed it to his nose. June turned her gaze to the floor for a moment. Her eyes shifted as if she was looking at something. Quickly she looked back at the man and at his arms.

"Royal Marines, 40 Commando" June said. "Somerset is quite a ways away from the Newcastle area." She looked over at Sherlock. "Am I right?"

"So far" Sherlock replied. He pulled his phone from his pocket and snapped a photo of the arrested man. "I know people who should be able to narrow it down from there."

"Why would someone want me dead?" June asked. Sherlock shoved the tissues back into his pocket and gave the former commando a stern glare.

"He wouldn't know why" Sherlock told June. "He simply does what is asked of him." Sherlock noted the few scars and the general wear and tear of the man's body. "He retired at what most people would call an early age, roughly around 40, but that wasn't enough. No, not for you, but you had trouble keeping up with the younger men. Especially having to deal with a goiter and surgery. That scar looks to be perhaps 5 years old. It probably made it difficult to be a marine with a big lump on your neck." His thumb tapped on his phone, finally pressing send. "It does however, make it easier to track down who you are."

"Diane" The man said. "A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O-"

The phone dinged with a response. It simply read: I'm not at liberty to divulge such information. MH.

"I need to know who or what Diane is" Sherlock said firmly. The man kept quiet. "Fine. Do you know if June is still in danger of assassination?"

"I do" The man said.

"Is she?" Sherlock asked.

"Diane" The man replied. "A, B, C, D-"

"We know the alphabet" Sherlock snapped. He stood up and June followed his lead. "I think we may be done here."

Sherlock's phone dinged again. This time reading: Herat. MH

"Herat" Sherlock read aloud. The man shook his head and pulled at the handcuffs. "Gotcha."


	6. Chapter 5

**NOTE: I haven't updated in a while. Sorry about that. Not really sure if I have any readers for this story. Hope I do. I welcome comments. I might just keep this as more of a mystery/adventure rather than anything romantic.**

* * *

"What is Herat?" June asked as soon as they left the station. The day had become rainy and gusty.

"Not 'what'. Where?" Sherlock replied. "It's a city in Afghanistan. 2004, on a 'training mission', there were some incidents that occured with the marines that were sent over."

"And he was there" June said. They crossed the street, avoiding puddles and dodging umbrellas. Sherlock finally stopped under an awning, out of the rain.

Sherlock shook out his coat collar before speaking. "I think we need to talk to-"

"Wait a second" June interrupted. She didn't swipe at the raindrops on her glasses or worry about her hair getting damp. "I know that I am filling in for John, but I need an hour or two."

"For what?" Sherlock asked.

"I need to find something to wear for tonight" June replied. "I didn't bring anything with me. I can meet up with you later."

"You're going alone?" Sherlock asked.

"I do everything alone" June replied. "I know you think I'm a walking target, but I can't live in fear of what might happen. I'll go find a dress and meet you back at your flat within 2 hours."

"Fine" Sherlock replied. "That will give me time to go see someone. Do me one favor." He glanced around at the people on the street. "Don't die."

"I don't plan on dying" June told him. She stepped out from the awning and was lucky enough to wave down a cab. "See you later, Sherlock."

Sherlock raised a hand from his coat pocket, giving a slight wave. As soon as her cab took off, he hurried to find the one person who could give him more details.

* * *

An eyeroll battled a dismissive smirk.

"Do you like having a female houseguest?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock tugged at his scarf and his coat buttons.

"I'm not here to have small talk about my houseguest" Sherlock snapped. He draped his coat over the back of his chair and paced. "She's alive. She was scheduled to be killed last night and she is alive."

"I saw that there was a skirmish at your place last night" Mycroft replied. "It was written up as a break-in." He raised a hand and gestured to his nose and eye. "Is that where your color is from?"

"No" Sherlock said. He mimicked Mycroft's gesture. "This is courtesy of the police." He finished his pacing and leaned forward, looming over Mycroft's desk. "I need to know more."

"What exactly do you need to know?" Mycroft asked leaning back in his chair. His smirk never faded, but it changed. Instead of being dismissive, he looked rather amused at his brother's dramatic antics.

"D.I.A.N.E. Diane. What does it stand for?" Sherlock asked. Mycroft rolled an ink pen in his fingers. "June had two Romanian thugs follow her the other day. Last night, not only was she attacked while retrieving takeaway, but we had two ex-marines attempt to kill her at Baker Street. The connection is art. Everyone who has been targeted is connected in some way to the arts. Painters, writers, musicians...I need to know what you know."

Mycroft stretched his neck and sat upright. "There have been rumors of a small underground group of vigilant art critics. Nothing more than rich youths pretending to live beatnik lives. They call themselves: Defining Inept Art Needing Enemies. Their acts have been geared towards ridding the world of bad art. Aside from starting a few fights and spreading graffiti, they are not a threat."

"You think some millennials are attempting to cleanse the world of bad art by getting rid of those they find to produce or sponsor bad art?" Sherlock groused. "Please!"

"That's what I know" Mycroft replied. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a single photo. He slid it over to his brother. "One of the leaders of D.I.A.N.E." Sherlock picked up the photo and looked at the three young people sitting on university steps. "Lauren Goode. Graduated from King's College with a degree in Digital Culture. Her two cohorts are Brian Reed and Vikram Lasco."

"Where can I find her?" Sherlock asked. Mycroft stood up and collected a few things.

"I would assume through social media" Mycroft replied. He checked the clock. "I have a meeting in ten minutes. I need to go and I need you to leave."

"Yes, fine" Sherlock replied. He put his scarf and coat on with his usual flair. He left Mycroft's office armed with his phone, the photo, and the disappointing information supplied by Mycroft. He hailed a cab as soon as he was streetside and got in. "221B Baker Street."

* * *

The door of 221B Baker Street opened and shut quickly. Mrs. Hudson stepped out from her rooms and looked up the stairs just in time to see Sherlock step onto the landing.

"Where is she?" Sherlock bellowed. "June?"

"She hasn't come in yet, Sherlock" Mrs. Hudson called from the main floor. She heard an exasperated huff from upstairs and went back to the baking she had been doing.

Sherlock was texting before he could even finish taking his scarf and coat off. _Where are you? 221B now. SH_ He pressed send before getting his things hung up. He snagged the photograph from his coat pocket and went over to place it on the mantle. He had work to do.

It wasn't too long before the front door of 221B Baker Street opened and closed and the softer footsteps of June could be heard on the stairs. After a few minutes, she came into Sherlock's living room. Her hair was wet and windblown. Sherlock glanced over at her, watching as she went into the kitchen to start a kettle for tea.

"There are new leads" Sherlock informed her. "A possible underground group of rebellious beatnik millennials."

"Is that some sort of...joke?" June asked. The electric kettle bubbled as it came to life. She moved to lean against the dividing wall between the kitchen and the living room.

"I never joke about these things" Sherlock replied, nearly guffawing with insult.

"It just sounds like a bad joke" June told him. Sherlock turned back to his laptop.

"Their group acronym is D.I.A.N.E." Sherlock began. "One of its leaders is Lauren Goode. According to her facebook, she works for the Society of London Art Dealers and regularly posts updates on her yoga classes. She doesn't have a criminal record. Her school grades were good, not the highest. Her paintings are neo-expressionism at best."

"What does it mean?" June asked.

Sherlock shrugged and let his hands gesture in a small circle as he spoke. "I find that neo-expressionism is simply two-sided art. An eagle painted in red might just be a red eagle, but it might also be tied to American Native history."

He glanced at June. "I meant the acronym. What does D.I.A.N.E. mean?"

"Oh that" Sherlock replied. "Defining Inept Art Needing Enemies. It's rather terrible."

"Oh God" June cringed under her breath.

"Your hair is quite wild. The wind pick up some" Sherlock told her. June stood at the mantle and began pulling out the bobby pins holding her hair up. "Lauren made a comment that she is looking forward to helping out at the writer's gala tonight."

"What will she be helping with?" June asked.

"The Society of London Art Dealers is presenting an award for original book cover art" Sherlock said. "She will be there with a few co-workers." The kettle went from a rolling boil to clicking off. June stepped into the kitchen to prepare her tea. "I haven't been able to find much on D.I.A.N.E. aside from a little graffiti and a local reddit user going by DIneptArtNE." A cup of tea was set next to Sherlock as he spoke. "The user only seems to be a fan of new art, rejecting most older art." He stopped talking in order to take a sip of his tea. When he looked up from his screen he found himself watching June mess with her hair. She was raking her fingers through her hair. "Your side must doing better if you were able to get your hair up this morning."

"I've had worse" June said. "I spent some time boxing. Not professionally, just in a local circuit back home."

"That would explain your technique" Sherlock replied. "Why did you stop?"

"Book tours" June said. "My agent didn't approve of black eyes at book signings." She sipped her tea. "How is your face?"

Sherlock's eye sported a purple ring that trailed over the bridge of his nose. The bruising over his nose faded into red. His face was swollen. "I took something for it. I'm fine."

"You're not getting out of it" June told him. He twitched an eyebrow. "I don't mind being bait to lure out D.I.A.N.E., but I can't be bait with no back up. It doesn't really work that way."

"When are we supposed to be there anyway?" Sherlock asked going back to his laptop and tea.

"We should probably leave in about three hours" June replied.

Sherlock grumbled. Silly galas were not really his thing, but he was sure they would be able to at least inquire about D.I.A.N.E. So far, he had not found a reason why and it was making him upset. WHY would they go as far as killing the artists? It was an extreme step. WHY were they being so extreme? In this day and age a simple bad online review could be more damaging than most other acts. WHY? WHY? WHY?

"WHY?!" Sherlock stood and yelled. The room was empty and the city had started to grow dark.

"Are you okay?" June asked coming into the room. She had her robe tied around her and she had been combing her hair. Sherlock scowled and glanced at the time. "You should probably get ready soon. We should leave in the next 30 minutes or so."

"Right" Sherlock replied. He straightened his shirt and decided to follow her suggestion.


End file.
